the streets heave like drunk lungs,
colors spilling, spinning—
purple, gold, green in the gutter.
a brass band breathes somewhere near,
while bodies jostle like lost waves,
tides of sweat and bourbon collide.
a woman laughs, mask slipping,
her eyes say secrets she won\'t tell.
a man stumbles, sacrament of vomit
on his lips. someone cheers—
\"throw me something, mister!\" and
plastic beads fall like false salvation.
stilt-walkers tower like forgotten gods,
parade floats glisten in spray-can glory.
the sidewalks bleed glitter and confetti,
chaos churns into something beautiful—
imperfect and unreal, like life\'s joke.
I light a cigarette, too casual,
watch the madness carve itself whole.